


Salvage

by SouthSideStory



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Rape, Sex Work, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5878156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthSideStory/pseuds/SouthSideStory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey doesn’t know what to do with herself. She masquerades as a strong woman, but the truth is that she’s like a rag doll made up of unwanted pieces, a patchwork girl just barely stitched together. The slightest strain on her seams and she’ll fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first scene of this story contains a pretty explicit moment of sex work that involves non-con. Please mind the warnings.

Rey spends her days picking clean the bones of fallen star destroyers and her nights in the hollowed out skeleton of a lamed walker. She bargains the bounty of wrecked ships for the same tasteless meal: polystarch and veg-meat.

This isn’t the only kind of trading that goes on at Niima Outpost. Once the sun sets and the scavengers have scurried back to their boltholes, the night workers come out. Prostitutes set up their pallets and advertise, bartering the use of their bodies for portions. Mostly women between sixteen and thirty, although there are some younger, some older, and a few men who cater to clients’ less traditional tastes.

Rey knows about these people, but she never thought she’d be one of them.

Pride convinced her that she’d rather starve to her grave than trade her body for food, but she’s grown too set on survival to give up now. For thirteen days in a row she’s found nothing of significant value, and she’s been lucky if Unkar Plutt gave her a quarter portion for her finds.

She’s lived a hungry life, but Rey has never known desperation like this before in her seventeen years. The empty ache of a starving belly, the light-headed hollowness that dulls her wits and slows her body. She’s dying by inches, and she’ll be too weak to save herself if she doesn’t act now.

This isn’t much different than the work she does already. The back-breaking labor of gutting imperial wreckage dirties her in its own way, after all.

Rey takes an oil bath, scrubs her skin with a porous stone to remove her body hair, and dresses in the cleaner of her two sets of clothes. Before she leaves for the outpost, she starts to scratch a mark into the wall of her rusting home, but she decides against it. She doesn’t want to immortalize this day on the metal. Rey would rather pretend it never existed.

An hour later, she lays a blanket on the outskirts of town, stands beside it, and waits. It doesn’t take long for a man to approach her and strike a deal. He offers five portions to fuck her, but Rey has the sense to demand ten. She’s never done this before and tells him so; if he wants her virginity he’ll pay double for it. His blue eyes linger on her small breasts, run the length of her too-slender legs.

“Eight. It’s all I’ve got with me, and besides, you’re too skinny for ten.”

“Fine,” Rey says, even though she almost chokes on the word.

_It’ll be over soon_ , she tells herself.

She undresses, feeling sick and exposed in the cold desert night, with no walls around her or roof over her head, then lies back on the blanket and opens her legs.

The man is neither young nor old, ugly nor handsome. Just a plain, weathered, middle-aged scavenger with the luxury of extra portions to spend. Rey doesn’t look at him as he climbs on top of her, unfastening his pants. Instead, she stares up to the stars. Picks out the constellations she’s made up for herself and imagines that someone is coming back for her. She just has to wait for them. Just has to survive until then.

It hurts. Her body isn’t ready for his, but he thrusts inside of her anyway, moving rough and fast, and she can feel herself tearing. Rey squeezes her eyes shut, blocking out the stars, and bites back a sob. Tears slide down the sides of her face, wet and warm.

The man on top of her stops, breathing heavily, and says, “Look, if I have to do all the work, I’m not gonna pay you eight.”

She wants to throw him off of her, to beat him with her quarterstaff, take the portions he owes her, and go back home. But he’s a big man, well over six feet tall and heavily built. Besides, she’s gone this far, already sacrificed her pride and her virginity. What does it matter if she has to give up more?

He orders her to suck him, and when Rey closes her mouth over his cock, she tastes her own blood.

.

.

Jakku may be light years away now, but some memories feel too close to be bound to a planet so far. Rey wakes in the middle of the night, shaking and crying, the unforgiving ghost of salt and red iron on her tongue. She runs to the ‘fresher and vomits, then takes the hottest shower she can stand. She wants to wash away the feel of that man’s fingers on her skin, but no amount of scrubbing seems to do it.

The next morning, Finn puts a hand on her arm and asks if she’s well. Even this, the touch of her closest friend, all comfort and concern, makes her itch to pull away.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the smile she forces to her lips feels too strained to be convincing.

Finn nods, frowning, and says, “If you need me, I’m here. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She kisses his forehead, the way she once did when he was lying prone in the medbay, and says, “Thank you.”

Finn has claimed a special place in her heart; he’s her first true comrade, the man who took her hand and led her out of Jakku amidst a whirlwind, who came back for her on Starkiller and risked his life for hers. She’ll never love anybody in quite the same way that she loves him, this soldier who taught her more about friendship in a day than she’d learned in nineteen years.

Rey wishes she could tell him about what she did on Jakku—what she let that man do to her. Finn would never judge her for it, she knows that, but she doesn’t want to see his sadness, or worse, pity.

So she tells him she’ll see him later, then hurries to her meeting with the general. Leia asked to meet her at the lowest level of the base, in a room just down the hall from the holding cells. It’s a strange place for a discussion, Rey thinks, but she goes without question.

Leia smiles, hugs her, and if she leans into the embrace a little more than she usually would, Rey hopes the general doesn’t notice.

After she’s stepped back, Leia’s soft expression saddens, and she says, “I need your help, Rey.”

She nods. “What can I do?”

“My son was captured last night, just outside the Pelloria System. He’s in a holding cell, and I’m about to speak with him, and I—I don’t think I can do it alone.”

“Kylo Ren is _here_ , down the hall?” Rey asks.

The last time she saw him a chasm had opened in the earth between them, and the collapse of Starkiller was the only thing that kept her from taking his life. She’d felt the pull to the dark, urging her to end his suffering right there, this miserable creature who had haunted her every step from Jakku.

“That’s not his name,” Leia says quietly. “No more than that mask is his face.”

She doesn’t especially want to see a monster like Kylo again, no matter what his true name is, but Rey can see how much it pains Leia to put her son in chains. How afraid she is to approach him as a prisoner.

“I hate to ask this of you,” Leia says, “and if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll do it,” Rey says. “I’m not afraid of him.”

And she isn’t, not anymore. How could she fear a wretch like Kylo after seeing him scrambling in the snow, unmasked and bloodied and defeated?

.

.

He’s restrained in a chair, his wrists and ankles bound by manacles. Less refined than the surgical contraption he had her confined with on Starkiller, but just as effective in its purpose. Rey had expected stubborn pride from him, but Kylo only sits slumped in this chair, limp and defeated.

Instead of giving his mother any kind of recognition, he looks Rey up and down and says in a dull voice, “Nice clothes. You don’t look like a scavenger anymore.”

“Nice scar,” Rey says. “Now the outside matches the inside.”

_Monster_. She doesn’t have to say as much for Kylo to hear it.

He smirks, just the faintest trace of a smile playing around the edges of that full mouth.

“Ben,” Leia says, and Rey is impressed at how firmly she speaks her son’s name.

“Don’t call me that,” Kylo spits, his gaze settled on the duracrete floor.

“I gave you that name,” Leia says, softer now. “I’ll use it if I want to.”

Kylo laughs, a broken sound, and Rey has to look away from him. He’s trembling and glassy-eyed in his mother’s presence, and it’s impossible to witness without feeling sorry for him.

“Might as well send in your interrogators now,” he says quietly.

Leia shakes her head, her voice hoarse when she says, “You know I don’t want to do that. Just cooperate, Ben. Please.”

He shakes his head. “I’m no traitor. If it’s insider information you want, go talk to that coward, FN-2187.”

“His name is _Finn_ ,” Rey snaps, before she can stop herself. “And if anyone’s the coward, it’s you. Hiding behind a mask and a fake name. You’d rather be the sad shadow of Darth Vader than your own man.”

Kylo finally looks up, right at her, something blazing in his eyes that makes Rey want to step away from him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He’s not the least bit frightened of her, and it angers Rey that he isn’t scared like she was on Starkiller. That he’s so confident in her goodness—which he sees as her _weakness_ —that he believes she won’t hurt him.

He’s wrong, though. Kylo brings out the worst in her, draws her to the darkness, and she’s neither weak nor very good when faced with him.

“You should step out,” Rey says to Leia. “It’s obvious that he’s not going to cooperate, and you shouldn’t have to watch me question him.”

Leia’s brown eyes widen. “Rey… that’s not why I asked you to come with me.”

“If I don’t do this, what’s the next step?”

Leia frowns, bringing out the lines on her regal face. They both know that the Resistance needs information on Snoke and the First Order too badly not to employ every method to make Kylo Ren speak. As much as she loves her son, Leia won’t spare him for the sake of the galaxy.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Rey promises. And she will, but that’s as much for her own sake as Kylo’s.

He’s listening to their quiet exchange, no doubt catching every word, waiting for the verdict.

“I’d prefer torture to the scavenger’s company,” Kylo says dryly, “if that sways your decision, Mom.”

Leia flinches when he calls her that, then says to Rey, “I’ll wait for you upstairs. Report to my office with any information you get from him.”

She leaves without another word. The metal door slides closed behind Leia with a shudder, and then Rey is alone with one of the creatures of her nightmares. She approaches, closing the distance between them until she stands over him. But Kylo is so large that, even seated, he isn’t much shorter than her. This close, she can see the fine details of the scar that divides his strong features. How the rich color of his bright eyes changes under the sterile, white lights. Rey wishes she found him ugly, that the mark she burned across his face would distract her from the compelling vulnerability of his full mouth—but it doesn’t.

She intends to simply reach out, to hold her hand a spare inch from his skin, but instead Rey finds herself cupping his cheek. He’s impossibly warm, almost feverish. She flicks her thumb across his plump bottom lip, a gesture borne from curiosity. And something more, but she isn’t ready to examine that just yet. His mouth is so soft, and she can feel the heat of his ragged breath. She expects Kylo to freeze, or pull away, defiant. Instead, he leans into her palm, as if he can’t help but savor the sweetness of contact. From the way he nuzzles her open hand, those tempting lips parted and long-lashed eyes closed, she expects it’s been years since anybody touched him with kindness.

Except for Han, of course.

He’s unguarded, defenseless, and if she reads his mind right now she’ll find everything she’s looking for in an instant. Maybe he brings out more than darkness in her, because something like compassion keeps her from doing it.

When she draws her hand away, Kylo’s dark eyes flash open and his lips snap shut. He looks surprised at himself and maybe a little angry. His gloved hands curl into fists and his jaw tightens. “Get on with it.”

Rey takes a steadying breath, then leans close enough to smell the metallic scent that clings to his hair, intentionally copying the intimacy he forced on her when their roles were reversed. She holds her hand beside his cheek and reaches with her mind, probing through the wall of his resistance and into the reservoir of memories beyond it.

She sees a small boy alone in a grand house, playing by himself while the golden droid C-3PO looks after him… He’s a little older, maybe five or six, crying in the darkness of his bedroom while his parents’ raised voices filter through the thin walls… “I’ll be back in time for your birthday, Ben,” Han Solo promises with a lopsided smile, but he knows better, because whenever Father goes off-world it’s always weeks and weeks before he returns… Mother looks at him with horror when she finds him with his hands buried in the body cavity of a lizard, exploring its still-warm organs, all curiosity without regard for life… A week later he’s going to live with Uncle Luke, and Ben can’t help but think that this is because his parents never much wanted him anyway…

Rey can feel him trying to force her out of his head, but he’s not as strong-willed as she is. Sweat beads on his brow, and he’s breathing hard from the effort of trying to expel her presence from his mind. It’s wrong to sift through his most private memories, it’s wrong to do this at all, and wading through the mire of a child’s pain hurts to experience, even secondhand.

She takes pity on him, and herself, and stops probing.

“You were lonely too,” Rey whispers. She understands the ache of isolation, how it can drive you half-mad if you let it, and it keeps her from reaching back into his mind.

Tears streak Kylo’s pale cheeks, sliding the length of his narrow face and dripping from his chin, and Rey hates herself in this moment for bringing his suffering to the surface. Never mind that he did the same to her not so long ago. It’s cruel, it makes her sick.

“Just tell me what I need to know,” Rey says, and it isn’t until she hears the shaking of her own voice that she realizes she’s on the verge of crying.

“No,” he chokes out. Then he gives her a wobbling smile. “I’m not giving you anything.”

She kneels on the tiled floor before him. If he wasn’t restrained, Rey would hate being in such a deferential position, but he’s too helpless right now for her to feel subservient. Still, he looms over her, so tall and broad. She cradles his cheeks between her hands, brushes away his tears with the softest of touches, and leans near enough to him that she can see the subtle trembling of his mouth.

_We’re close enough to kiss_ , she thinks for a fleeting moment, before pushing the thought away.

“Help me, Ben. Tell me something, anything, so I can stop this,” she whispers.

He winces when she says his name. “Don’t.”

“Ben,” Rey says again, and this time she savors the simplicity of the single syllable on her tongue. It’s such a plain, honest name for such a complicated man, but somehow it suits him. “That’s your name, your real name, and from now on it’s the only one I’m going to use,” she promises quietly.

Fresh tears course down his face, wetting her fingers. “Don’t be afraid,” Rey says, mirroring his own words back at him, the way he’d just mirrored hers. “I feel it too.”

Witnessing weakness from him, seeing his humanity, has dulled her hatred for this man. She doesn’t want to invade his mind again. Just the thought of it makes her skin crawl.

“You can’t do it, can you?” he asks. Ben sounds confident now, determined and prideful, despite the fact that he’s still restrained, that he just cried into her palms.

“No,” Rey says. “I can’t.” She stands, wipes her tear-streaked hands on her pants, and says, “You know what’s going to happen if you don’t talk to me.”

If Rey had her way, no one would touch him. She disapproves of torture, no matter how valuable the victim’s information or how terrible his crimes. Besides, she expects that trying to pry information out of him will be an exercise in futile abuse. She remembers how relentlessly he fought on Starkiller, pushing through the pain of his wounds.

He shrugs, as if the suffering of the body is a small, inconsequential thing. “I guarantee that your interrogators aren’t half as ruthless as the Supreme Leader’s. There’s nothing they can do to me that hasn’t already been done.”

“Snoke—he, are you saying he had you tortured?” Rey asks.

“My mother is Leia Organa, the Resistance’s general, and my uncle is Luke Skywalker, last of the Jedi; of course he had me questioned,” Ben says. “Any intelligent leader would have done the same.”

Rey can’t begin to dissect the nature of his thinking, it’s so foreign and so strange to her.

When she turns toward the door, he asks, “Where are you going?” There’s a familiar note in his voice, and now she recognizes it for what it is: desperation framed in aggression.

She leaves Ben, reports to the general, and admits that she was unable to draw any useful information from him. Leia’s shoulders slump, and Rey can see the weight settling on her at the thought of what must come next: ordering the sharp interrogation of her only child.

“Don’t do it,” Rey says. “If you have him tortured you won’t be able to forgive yourself and we’ll never make an ally out of him.”

Leia looks up, a gentle optimism kindling in her expression. “You think he still has good in him?”

“I’m not sure,” Rey says, hesitant to give Leia false hope, “but I do know this; torturing him would do nothing but hurt him pointlessly. He’s not going to talk until he wants to. Treating him with kindness is the only way we might sway him back to the light.”

Leia puts her head in her hands, nods. “I couldn’t have done it anyway,” she says. “Thank you for giving me a reason.”

.

.

That night, Rey sits up in bed, afraid of what dreams might come if she lies down and closes her eyes. Perhaps she’ll see Ben’s tear-stained face, twisted in agony over the half-buried memories she forced to the forefront of his mind. Or maybe she’ll feel the rough fabric of a blood-stained blanket beneath her back and wake crying again.

Rey doesn’t know what to do with herself. She masquerades as a strong woman, but the truth is that she’s like a rag doll made up of unwanted pieces, a patchwork girl just barely stitched together. The slightest strain on her seams and she’ll fall apart.


	2. Chapter 2

The Supreme Leader is wise, but Kylo Ren finds within a week under Snoke’s tutelage that wisdom does not beget kindness.

First Order soldiers restrain him and question him about his mother and father, about Master Luke. He gives up everything regarding his uncle easily enough, but he can’t bring himself to betray his parents the same way. When his answers fail to satisfy the stormtroopers they hurt him. First with their hands, then with blunt batons, and finally with needles that dig deep into his skin and send shocks of electricity throughout his body. It’s the last that breaks him; he confesses what little he knows, and when this still isn’t enough to keep the pain at bay, he makes up stories, lies through his teeth, anything to stop the torture.

Two days later, as he lies in a bed in the medbay, Kylo cries like a boy by another name and thinks, _What have I done?_

This was a mistake, but it’s too late to go back now. He’s already killed for Snoke, helped the other Knights slaughter his fellow Jedi initiates, destroying the new order his uncle had worked so hard to rebuild. He tries not to think about that, the scents of rain and blood and cauterized flesh, how his lightsaber thrummed in his hand as he cut down his comrades.

He’s summoned to appear before the Supreme Leader the day he leaves the medbay. Stormtroopers escort him to an audience chamber where he finds Snoke sitting alone in the shadows. Some ominous presence ripples through the Force around him, a darkness deeper than any Kylo has ever felt.

The Supreme Leader is a skeletal man, scarred and twisted and bent, but still tall and intimidating for all the suffering he bears so visibly on his face. When he speaks, Kylo recognizes that this is the voice that seduced him from afar. Appearing in his dreams, haunting his every step for years. Promising power, acceptance, a true family.

Now Snoke puts his hand in Kylo’s hair, pets him, and says, “I’m sorry that we had to question you, but it was an unfortunate necessity. You’re strong, though—stronger than you understand yet, Kylo Ren.”

He says nothing, unsure of how to react to gentleness coming from this man.

“You think you’ve made a mistake. You regret forsaking the light,” Snoke says smoothly, confidently, but without judgement. “You always doubt, don’t you, Kylo? You’re never sure if you can trust yourself, whether your choices are sound, are right.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Kylo whispers, and he feels a warm flush coloring his cheeks.

“There’s no need to worry about such things further,” Snoke promises. “From now on, you are an instrument of my will. Your hand is mine, moving in the world, carrying out my orders.”

This tempts him, but Kylo isn’t eager to exchange his freedom for power and peace of mind. Perhaps if he could find some way off of this base, Mom would still forgive him…

“You have no mother, no father. Ben Solo was the son of Han and Leia, but Ben Solo is dead. You killed him the moment you took up your lightsaber against the other Jedi,” Snoke says. He cups Kylo’s chin, lifts his face upward, and smiles down at him softly, almost benevolently. “Even if I were to let you leave, where would you go? Who in the whole of this galaxy would welcome you, besides me?”

_No one_ , Kylo realizes. _No one at all_.

“Stand,” Snoke says, and he rises to his feet.

The Supreme Leader cups his face in his hands, and all at once he feels overwhelmed by a rush of cold. It’s the darkness emanating from Snoke, so strong that Kylo could almost choke on it. But there’s something cleansing about standing in the presence of such power. It’s like being drowned in a wave of freezing water and then coming up for air, washed and reborn anew.

.

.

A dozen armed Resistance fighters release Kylo from his restraints and shepherd him to a larger cell that boasts a bed, a toilet, and a ‘fresher. He considers Force choking a few of the soldiers, just for the sake of giving the his mother a mess to handle, but he doesn’t especially feel like being shot today.

The cot’s mattress feels like it’s made of duracrete, he has no blanket, and the cell’s bright lights never dim. Still, he sleeps for a few hours, too exhausted to care about any of this.

Kylo waits for the interrogators to come and tries to prepare himself for torture. He isn’t a fifteen-year-old child anymore. Now he knows how to tolerate pain—he had to learn, with Snoke for a master. He understands how to channel his suffering into power instead of allowing it to cripple him. But no one questions him again. No one visits him at all for days, except to bring him simple meals and clean clothes.

He makes a half-dozen plans for escaping, but each one seems less plausible than the last. He may have to wait for a good opportunity to present itself.

Until then, Kylo remains bored and lonely. He has only one distraction, a warm presence in the Force, a blue light that he can sense flitting across the Resistance base. Rey. He’s _felt_ her for the last year, if distantly, with so many stars scattered between the two of them, so subtle that it would be easy to overlook. But ever since she read his mind her vibrant energy is too powerful to miss. He’s aware of her, every hour of every day, and sometimes he can even feel a trace of her emotions: joy, worry, frustration, fear, guilt.

He’s showering when he hears the metal door open. Kylo rinses himself, turns off the water, and looks over his shoulder at Rey. He knew it was her, could feel her presence as she made her way across the base, then down ten levels to his cell.

Now she’s staring pointedly at the floor. He steps out of the transparisteel stall, wraps a towel around his waist, and asks, “So, when are the interrogators coming?”

Her gaze flicks away from the floor, but instead of meeting his eyes, she looks him up and down. Rey blushes, a pretty pinkness that colors her cheeks, and her lips part just a little, like she means to say something but can’t find her words.

It strikes him, then, just how young she is. Twenty or twenty-one, he’d guess. Kylo wonders if she’s ever seen a naked man before.

Rey shakes her head a little, as if to clear it, and says, “They’re not.”

“So you’re here to probe my mind?” he asks.

Rey wraps her arms around her middle. “No. I’m never doing that again.”

“Then what do you want with me?”

“I—I don’t know,” she says.

“That’s a lie. You do, but you don’t want to tell me.” Kylo leans against the cold durasteel wall and waits for her to speak.

Rey takes a step forward, a step closer to him, but she pulls back. “I can sense you now,” she admits. “Your presence in the Force, even your feelings.”

“I know,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That goes both ways.”

“Well what is it? And how do we get rid of it?” Rey asks.

“You could have talked to Luke about this, but I imagine you were too ashamed to tell my uncle,” Kylo says. “Is that about right?”

Rey scowls. “Just answer the question.”

“I think it’s a Force bond. Which used to be common between Jedi masters and their apprentices.” He can’t help but smirk at her. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something, Rey.”

“I don’t want the kind of guidance you have to offer,” she says. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Kylo walks toward her, and in just three strides he’s closed most of the space between them. “You wouldn’t be here if that was true.”

Rey tenses, poised like a bird ready to take flight, but she doesn’t step backward. She’s too proud for that, he expects. Her gaze drops from his face to his shoulders, his waist, and lingers before flitting away. He can feel her reaction to his body, the spark of desire that strikes her, unwelcome and overwhelming.

She _wants_ him, and Kylo is so surprised by this realization that he reaches out, wanting to touch her, to make this connection between them tactile. Rey lets him cup her cheek, but she turns her face into his hand, eyes closed, like she’s trying to conceal herself from him.

“You can’t hide,” he whispers. “I feel what you feel.”

Rey steps away from him, breaking contact. She hurries to the exit, puts her thumb against the print-reader, and the door opens a moment later. He catches the sight of a half-dozen uniformed guards before the door slams closed after her. The sound of metal on duracrete echoes around his cell for a heartbeat, emphasizing the silence that widens in its wake.

.

.

.

Kylo hates being trapped like an animal in a cage for endless days that run into one another, unchanging and empty. He’s used to solitude, but not total isolation, and the monotony of being sequestered like this is driving him crazy. There’s little enough in his cell that isn’t bolted to the ground, but in a fit of frustration he uses the Force to rip his cot from the floor and hurl it at the wall. The noise attracts his guards, who make the mistake of opening the door and pointing their blasters at him. He Force chokes three of them at once, then freezers the laser shot of the fourth.

Kylo injures nine guards in his escape attempt, but he makes it no further than the eighth floor before he’s overwhelmed by Resistance soldiers. It’s FN-2187 who hits him in the temple with the butt of his blaster, knocking him out.

He comes to with a pounding headache, the whole right side of his face throbbing and tender, on a hard cot in a new cell. Now his hands are cuffed, bound together by freezing manacles that bite into his wrists. He wants to scream, to destroy everything in this room, but he knows it would do him no good.

So instead, Kylo turns on his side, facing the wall, curls into himself, and tries to sleep. He dreams of Dad, his roguish face grown old and grey, but still so vibrant—until the lightsaber ignited in his hands and extinguished his father’s life.

Kylo wakes, shaking and slicked with sweat, his arms aching from the weight of the handcuffs on his wrists. All he can see is red and all he can smell is the scent of burning flesh and blood. He feels the weight of this, his worst deed, heavy in his bones, sinking like a stone in his stomach. What was the point? Killing Han Solo was supposed to make him stronger, free him from the yoke of the light. But now he’s a true prisoner, surrounded by enemies, too weak to break his way out, and Kylo only hates himself for making such a great sacrifice.

He half hopes that his attempt at fleeing will inspire his mother to have him executed. Death would be preferable to this lonely life, to a secluded existence that gives him no relief from the memory of his mistakes.

He holds out no hope that the Supreme Leader will send a rescue party. Snoke values power above all else, and if Kylo is too weak to see after himself, then his master no longer has any use for him. This hurts in its own way, to have his loyal service and dedication dismissed. The Supreme Leader may be cruel, but he gave him the sort of attention and approval that Ben Solo had always craved from his family. Craved, but rarely received.

He stands and paces his cell, thinking about Snoke. The man who raised him out of boyhood and taught him how to harness the darkness inside of himself. Whose tutelage made training into bitter work full of pain, whose guidance molded him into the man he’s become. Snoke’s voice seduced him away from his family and the ever-elusive light. Kylo has grown used to its presence, commanding and directing him for thirty years.

But now he hears nothing from the Supreme Leader. There’s only silence, as wide as the light years separating him from Snoke, and he knows that his master has abandoned him.

.

.

.

Mom visits him three days after his escape attempt. This time she comes without Rey, but she’s accompanied by so many armed soldiers that Kylo doesn’t even bother to count them all. He recognizes one as Poe Dameron, the pilot he interrogated aboard Hux’s ship. Dameron glares at him, but he says nothing.

Kylo stands, and his mother looks at his chafed wrists, reddened and bruised by the manacles, concern coloring her brown eyes.

She turns to the tallest of her soldiers, holds out her hand, and says, “The key.”

The man frowns, but he gives her a slender pin, which she uses to unlock the cuffs binding Kylo’s wrists. Then she takes his hands in hers, and he stiffens at her touch. She’s grown older in the years since he last saw her, but no less beautiful, no less regal, and the softness with which she still looks at him makes him feel like a boy again.

Somehow, she still wants to believe that there’s light in him, even after all he’s done, and the weight of her hope makes him sick to his stomach, because she’s wrong. He murdered the last of his own goodness along with Dad, destroyed any chance of absolution when he took his father’s life.

It was all for nothing, though, because far from making him stronger, Kylo was weakened by his choice. And now he stands imprisoned in a Resistance cell, left for dead by the master he sacrificed everything for.

“Leave us,” she says to her entourage.

Dameron steps forward. “But, General, he’s too dangerous to—”

“That was an order, Poe, not a request,” she says sharply.

The soldiers file out of the cell, Dameron clearly reluctant but too loyal to fight further, and Kylo has to respect the obedience she inspires in her troops.

Once they’re alone, Mom reaches up and holds his cheeks between her hands. Her eyes brighten with tears as she traces the edge of his scar with her thumb. “Oh, Ben,” she whispers, her husky voice roughened. “Why did you do it?”

There’s only one thing his mother can mean, and Ben has to close his eyes to shut out the sight of her beloved face twisted with grief. His parents always loved as fiercely as they fought, and in a single moment of selfish desperation on Starkiller, he stole her husband from her.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he says, pulling away from her touch.

She shakes her head. “You’re wrong. You can still be a good man. I know it.”

“Is this the part where you compel me to talk? To betray the Supreme Leader?” Kylo asks, because if he doesn’t turn this back to business he’s going to fall apart.

Mom scowls and holds out her hands. “Why protect Snoke when he’s done nothing to help you? You were never anything but a tool to him. A source of power to exploit for his own ends. And now that we have you, now that you’re no longer useful, he’s cutting his losses.”

He can see the truth of this easily enough, but it doesn’t matter what he means to Snoke, because the Supreme Leader told him from the beginning that he was simply an instrument.

“I want to help you, Ben, but I can’t free you as long as you’re a risk to my people,” she says. “Cooperate with us. Redeem yourself.”

Her offer is as tempting as any he’s ever known, but he can’t accept it. Kylo grips his aching wrist, fingers biting into the bruised flesh, and the sharp pain of it centers him, calms him, and gives him the strength to say, “No.”

She nods, then leaves him alone in his cell.

Once she’s gone, he sits on the edge of his cot, head in his hands, and rocks back and forth, back and forth, his breathing shallow and staggered. He’s given everything to the Supreme Leader, and if he betrays him now it will all have been in vain.

What does it matter that Snoke only saw him as a means to an end? Kylo has never been fit for anything more than being used. He’s known this since he was a child, and it’s as true now as it was then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank the glorious Reylo garbage goddess ReyloTrashCompactor for reading this and giving me all kinds of encouragement! Also, thank you to everyone who’s been commenting on this story and leaving kudos. It’s so appreciated. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Rey can’t sleep. She lies in bed, her own loneliness and Ben’s restlessness keeping her awake. She can sense him, a cold presence in the Force, pulsing with every beat of his heart. His pain is sharp, his guilt suffocating, and she closes her eyes against feelings not her own.

She gets out of bed, dresses, and heads downstairs. Flashes her security clearance card at the guards and presses her thumb to the print-scanners. Rey hesitates when she reaches the door to his cell. With so little space separating them, she can feel Ben strongly now. Senses the hope and interest that flares within him when he realizes she’s come to see him.

Rey opens the door and steps inside the clinical, colorless cell, so spare and spartan, brightened by white lights. She can’t help but remember the last time she visited Ben. How she saw him naked, his strong body damp from a shower. Every inch of him was beautiful: his powerful shoulders, lean stomach, long legs. Just thinking of that sight makes her shift where she stands, suddenly uneasy.

He’s pacing his cell, that commanding stride of his made purposeless by confinement.

“I need you to go to sleep,” Rey says. “I can’t rest with you awake and worrying yourself sick.”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?” he asks.

“You know what you have to do; you just don’t want to do it.” Rey takes a wary step toward him, then another, carefully closing the space between them. “Cooperate with us and you can bargain for your freedom.”

He stands still, lets her invade his personal space, wary but wanting. A scant few inches separate them now, and Rey feels a confusing mix of his emotions and hers, made more prominent by their proximity. She touches his chest, presses her hand to his heart and savors its rapid beat against her palm.

Ben’s breathing grows staggered, and she can sense him weakening. Rey knows with a strange sort of certainty that it’s tenderness, not brutality, that might break him. This is why she stands up on the tips of her toes and kisses his neck. It has nothing to do with her own want. It’s strategy, not yearning, that drives her to taste his fragile pulse point, to suck at the sensitive skin of his throat until he gasps.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, but Rey doesn’t know whether he’s asking her to stop or keep going.

She slips a hand underneath his grey shirt, splays her fingers across his stomach, and marvels at the heat of him. Plays with the coarse hair below his navel, then follows the trail of it down to the hem of his pants. Ben bucks against her, panting. “You’re crueler than I realized,” he whimpers.

He’s such a beautiful wreck, cheeks flushed and lips parted, shivering under her hands. What a mess she’s made of him with so little effort.

Rey touches his thigh and finds him hard, cock straining against the fabric of his pants. For a moment she feels a surge of power and a warmth low in her belly that’s startlingly similar to lust.

But then she remembers what it actually feels like to have a man inside of her, and before she can push it away, she’s remembering a cold night on the outskirts of Niima Outpost: the bruising strength of that scavenger’s fingers digging into her hips, his rough thrusts and heavy breathing, the white stars looking down on the violation of her body like a thousand unforgiving eyes.

Rey scrambles away from Ben on unsteady legs and asks, “Are you going to talk or not?”

He gazes at her with such undisguised desire that it thrills and frightens her. “No,” he says. Maybe he means to sound defiant, but all Rey hears is breathless brokenness in that one word.

She leaves, hurries from the cell before she does something even more foolish. Once two floors and a dozen doors stand between them, Rey rests against the wall of a disused room and beats her fist against the duracrete.

What’s wrong with her? She put her hands on that monster. Kissed his neck and caressed his stomach. Made him hard and enjoyed doing it. If she hadn’t been so forcefully reminded of the man she sold herself to back on Jakku, she doesn’t know what she might have done.

Now Rey shifts, uncomfortable, because her sex throbs with want. She feels too guilty to ease the ache with her own fingers, but she’s wet between her legs, wet for Ben. She finds herself whispering his name aloud, just for the simple pleasure of tasting it again.

.

.

Rey keeps away from Ben, but she still feels him in the Force with relentless awareness. No matter how she tries to clear her mind, to meditate or focus mindfully on a task the way Luke taught her, she can’t stop sensing his mercurial moods, his roiling emotions. He’s like a live wire, charged with energy, as dangerous as he is powerful.

She resists for a full week before returning to his cell. It’s the middle of the day this time—not that it much matters ten levels below ground, in a windowless room brightened by lights that never dim. Rey wonders how he keeps time down here, or if he even tries.

Ben stirs from sleep when the metal door slides open. She knows because she can feel his presence blooming into wakefulness, but he doesn’t turn over to face her. Just remains settled on his side, those long legs of his curled up in an incongruously childlike manner. He’s a bit too big for the cot that’s been given to him, and Rey takes stock of the other petty cruelties that have been built into this cell. The toilet and ‘fresher shielded only by transparisteel stalls, no doubt meant to shame this prideful man. How the air stays too cold for comfort, while his stiff mattress is relieved by neither a blanket nor a pillow. And, of course, the stark whiteness of the ever-brightened lights, chasing away any hope for restful sleep.

Rey approaches him, says his name. Ben keeps quiet and still, even though he must know that he can’t feign sleep. Not with her. She touches his shoulder, and at the contact he stiffens.

“Come to bother me again?” he asks, still facing the wall.

“I’m tired of this,” Rey says. “I want you out of my head.”

_Out of my heart_.

Ben finally sits up, faces her. He sets his feet on the floor, long legs on either side of her, and before she can step away, he wraps a strong arm around her waist, holding her in place.

“You always come alone,” he says. “Even my mother brings an entourage when she visits. But not you.”

It’s difficult to focus on his words when she can feel his fingers slipping beneath her shirt, caressing her back.

“I don’t need protection from you,” she says.

“You’re right,” he whispers. “You don’t.”

Ben rests his head on her chest, his cheek pressed to her softness, and she knows he can feel the racing beat of her heart. Rey runs her fingers through his thick hair, cradles him against her breast. He holds her between his hands, his thumbs teasing the crests of her hipbones, his fingers splayed across her bottom. Maybe the intimacy of this embrace ought to frighten her, but it doesn’t. She already feels the inner workings of his heart every moment of every day, and nothing could be more intimate than that.

.

.

Leia must know about Rey’s visits to her son’s cell, but the general doesn’t remark upon it. She’s thankful for this, because she doesn’t know how she might explain her daily treks to the bottom floor of the base. How she could justify spending hours at a time with Ben in the middle of the night, talking, kissing, simply holding one another close. She still tries to convince him to cooperate with the Resistance, but this is no longer the purpose of her visits. Now it’s the selfish desire to feel his arms around her that drives her to his cell.

Tonight, she’s beneath him on his hard cot, because there isn’t room for them to lie side by side. Ben kisses her neck, his full lips soft and teasing. She’s still startled by how gentle he can be, this man who’s known throughout the galaxy for his violence. Rey wraps her legs around his waist, runs her hands beneath his shirt, feeling the strength of his broad back.

Ben’s mouth wanders lower, sucks at the curve of her breast until a red bruise blushes on her sensitive skin. She should chastise him for marking her, but Rey can’t bring herself to do it. He has no influence beyond the confines of this cell, and she can’t blame him for wanting her to carry some evidence of their embraces into the outside world.

“Rey,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her. “I want you.”

There’s no mistaking his meaning, not with his cock pressing hard between her legs.

This isn’t how she’d prefer it to be, with Ben dressed in prisoner’s grey, on a bed too small and stiff for comfort, those damned lights so bright and exposing. But Rey wants him too, and she’s tired of waiting.

She pulls her shirt over her head, then her breast-band. The cold air makes her nipples harden, and goose flesh stipples her skin, but somehow she’s still flushed, feverish with need. Ben pulls her pants over her hips, down her legs, then off of her. Hooks his fingers beneath the fabric of her plain underwear and asks, “Can I?”

Rey nods, takes a deep breath, and lets him remove her panties. She’s utterly naked beneath a clothed man for the second time in her life, and memories of her last encounter are too close at hand for her to relax. She looks at Ben, at his scarred face, still so handsome, to remind herself of where she is and who she’s with.

He puts a hand between her legs and caresses her, his large fingers rubbing slow circles on her sex, sending shocks of pleasure through her with every touch. Rey whimpers and bucks up against him, needing more, needing everything he can give.

She pulls at his shirt, clawing it over his head, forcing him to stop touching her to take it off. Ben throws it to the floor, impatience and frustration showing in his sharp movements, and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees, baring himself to her. Rey opens her legs wider, unconcerned with how desperate it makes her look, how lewd. His dark eyes rove over her body, drinking in the sight of her splayed before him, and she has to close her eyes against the passion in that knowing look. Then he’s settling on top of her, between her legs, guiding his cock to her wet sex.

It hurts, if not as badly as the first time. He thrusts into her, going slowly and carefully, but it doesn’t matter. She feels stretched to her limit, tender and aching. Still needful, but her desire is overwhelmed by discomfort. His body is so big and broad that Rey feels trapped beneath him, unable to breathe, just like before. She gasps, claws at his back, panicked, because suddenly she tastes blood on the back of her tongue, and the coldness of this cell feels just like the night air on Jakku.

Ben pulls out of her, but not away, holds her tear-streaked face between his hands and makes soothing noises. “It’s all right,” he says. “You’re all right.”

He presses gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and something about the softness of these touches calms her. She’s still crying, her breath coming short and staggered, but she’s more aware of her surroundings, of the man on top of her.

“Rey,” he whispers, his big hands skimming down her arms, like he’s afraid of holding on to her too tightly. “What’s wrong?”

_I’m ruined_ , she thinks. And she has nobody to blame for it but herself.

.

.

Rey spends most of the next day in bed. She has no missions, no on-base assignments or meetings, so she curls up under the thick covers and sleeps. When she can’t rest any longer, she lies on her stomach and wills herself to think of nothing.

It doesn’t work, of course. She recalls her brief, disastrous coupling with Ben all too well and hides herself further beneath her blankets, as if that can keep him away. But he must feel her regret, her shame, because Rey can sense his own anxiety and self-loathing with sharp, cloying intimacy. She’s tempted to visit Ben, to explain that he did nothing wrong—because she can tell that he’s furious with himself, certain he did something to hurt her—but cowardice keeps her from relieving his worries. Rey doesn’t want to tell him that she sold herself, that she bargained her virginity for the low price of eight portions, and now she can barely be touched without thinking about it.

Hunger drives her out of bed for breakfast the next day, and that’s when she hears about the upcoming meeting: a council of the highest-ranking Resistance officers will vote on what to do with the general’s son. He’s been an uncooperative prisoner for months now, refusing to share a shred of information. If he won’t give them anything useful, why should they keep such a war criminal alive?

Rey is invited to the meeting. She and Luke are the last remaining remnants of the Jedi Order and their words carry weight. She wonders what her master will say, if anything.

Three days later, Leia seats herself at the head of the table in the war room. She invites Luke to settle at her right, Rey to her left. At the opposing end sits Lieutenant General Heli Tsann—a grave, middle-aged man who’s been vocal about the gentle treatment of Kylo Ren since he was captured. First he advocated for torture, now he seeks capital punishment. Many of the officers in the room sympathize with this way of thinking, but just how many, Rey isn’t sure.

Tsann introduces himself—as if anyone needs a reminder of his name or rank—then says, “The man who calls himself Kylo Ren has been a prisoner of the Resistance for four months now, and in this time he hasn’t volunteered a single piece of information on the First Order, his master Snoke, or the Knights of Ren. I propose that, unless he agrees to cooperate with us, he should face execution for his many crimes.”

Easily a third of the officers nod their heads and make agreeable noises, like an assenting flock.

“What about a trial?” Leia asks. “My son is entitled to that much.”

“Your son is gone, Leia,” Tsann says, not ungently. “And Kylo Ren is entitled to nothing. A trial would be a waste of time when half the galaxy has witnessed to his crimes.”

“It’s not as if he denies what he’s done,” says Colonel Junoh.

“He’s no use to us dead,” Rey says, hoping that a practical appeal might speak to the undecided amongst the officers. “Time could still break his resolve, and if he cooperates he could be a great source of information on the enemy. Is vengeance worth losing that edge?”

Tsann smirks at her. “Is that truly your concern? Or is your interest of a more personal nature?”

“Excuse me?” Rey asks, even though she knows what’s coming.

“It’s no secret that you’ve visited Kylo Ren more than anyone else. Far more, even, than his own mother,” Tsann says lightly. “Before you deny it, keep in mind that we have records from the print-scanners that prove the truth.”

“I wouldn’t think to deny it,” Rey says, sitting up straighter. “Ben isn’t the man you believe him to be—”

“ _Ben_?” asks Junoh, frowning. The lines that bracket her mouth deepen, making her look older. “That’s awfully familiar.”

Rey feels herself flush, and she knows she isn’t doing well. That a man’s life hinges on her ability to convince these people, but she’s always been a woman of action, not words.

“It’s his name, Junoh,” Leia says evenly. “I ought to know; I picked it. So let’s not fault Rey for using it.”

“His name is a moot point,” Tsann says. “Unless anyone else plans to speak on Kylo Ren’s behalf, I suggest we take this to a vote.”

Rey looks across the table at her master. She meets Luke’s weary blue eyes, willing him to speak. For Leia, if not for his nephew.

“Ben was a child when Snoke stole him from us,” Luke says. “A boy who struggled against the dark, but just a boy nonetheless. My failings as a teacher have brought us here, as much as anything else—save Ben’s own poor choices—and knowing this, I can’t in good conscience condone his death.”

Tsann nods and says, “Thank you for your words, Master Skywalker.”

Then comes the vote, a tally of raised hands, and the result is as simple and straightforward as it is horrific: thirteen to nine, the majority in favor of executing Kylo Ren.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is finally back! I'm hoping to finish it soon, because Salvage is my baby and I've been heartbroken that it's been sitting in WIP limbo for so long. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I know it was a long time coming.

It’s Rey who delivers the news: his execution date has been set for a month from tomorrow. Kylo sits on the edge of his cot, hands clasped together, feeling oddly calm. Perhaps he should be scared, but the prospect of death appeals to him more than it frightens.

Rey kneels before him, cups his face between her hands. “Did you hear me?” she asks. “They’re going to kill you, Ben.”

He leans into her touch, reveling in the contact. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

For some reason, the possibility is more painful to consider than his own execution. This scavenger who was once his enemy, the girl he unapologetically chased across the galaxy, captured, and interrogated. Now the thought of harming her sickens him.

Rey looks down, studying the floor. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

Relief floods through him, the purest thing he’s felt in years. Still, he can tell that she’s nervous, hiding something.

“Then why did you cry?” he asks.

“I just lost my nerve is all,” she says.

Rey is too steady a woman for nothing to panic her so thoroughly, but Kylo lets her keep her secrets. She doesn’t owe him anything, not even the truth.

“That’s not important anyway,” Rey says. “Not right now.”

Kylo stands, and it feels good to be on his feet while she’s on her knees. Sends a thrill of heat through him, makes him think about fucking her again, this time more slowly and carefully so that she’d enjoy it.

Rey doesn’t move at first. Then she leans toward him and presses her forehead to his thigh.

“Please,” she whispers. “Please be different. Don’t leave me.”

She bites at his hipbone, teeth sharp through the grey of his prison-issued pants.

“Sweetheart…” Kylo grabs her hair, loose and soft, and tangles his fingers in it.

Whatever pride or resentment Rey has been hanging onto, it seems she left it at the door.

“You have to fight,” she says, pressing a kiss to his bare belly. “I’ll—I’ll do anything, if you’ll just fight, Ben.”

Something cold crawls down his body, and an image flashes right in front of him: Rey, young and terrifyingly thin, crying on the desert ground with a man on top of her; she’s so afraid, ashamed, trapped; desperate to do whatever she has to to survive—

Rey cries out, a high, wailing sound he’s never heard from her before. She stumbles to her feet and backs away from him, dry sobs robbing her breath, feeling all the things she felt before, caught under the man who raped her. Like it had happened yesterday instead of years ago.

“Rey!”

Kylo reaches for her but doesn’t touch, hopeless, helpless. “I didn’t mean to—I swear, it was an accident. I wouldn’t have looked on purpose.”

She turns and runs from him, giving Kylo no choice but to let her go.

He doesn’t sleep that night, not with Rey awake in her bed, too furious and ashamed to rest. Then he hears her, hushed but clear, a whisper through the Force saying, _Get out of my head._

“I can’t,” Kylo says.

He knows she hears him because he feels the responding ripple of her anger across their bond. _Then stop pitying me. I can feel it, and it’s insulting from a creature like you._

Kylo rolls onto his back and covers his eyes, embarrassment warming him. He should ignore her—she’s just hurt and scared—but Rey is thinking of what a pathetic thing he is. How stupid he must be to protect a man who abandoned him, how weak to waffle between the light and the dark without mastering either—

_You weren’t calling me a creature when you spread your legs for me,_ Kylo thinks, before he can hold it in.

Then: _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sweetheart, please—_

When Kylo reaches out to her, he only finds so much raw fury that he can’t force his thoughts through it. He wants to apologize at her feet, beg forgiveness, but Rey isn’t here. She isn’t here, and now she won’t be coming back.

.

.

Whatever was unfolding between him and Rey, it’s been shut away now, and Kylo is almost thankful. It makes letting go easier.

So when his mother comes the next morning, Kylo speaks first.

“Don’t ask,” he says. “It’ll only hurt you to hear my answer, and I’m tired of hurting you.”

She laughs, a hoarse huff that carries her old frustrations with him. “Stubborn as always. You were the most difficult child.”

Kylo strides away from her, laughing too, harsh and ugly. “I know,” he says. “You never wanted a kid like me.”

“No. You don’t get to do that,” his mother says, a sharp-edged order that breaks at the end. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, unless you live long enough to become a parent yourself.”

It stings, but softly. What he’s lost doesn’t matter anymore.

“That won’t be happening,” Kylo says. “I intend to come quietly.”

“I know you won’t live for yourself, but what about me?” she says. Beneath her hurt he hears anger, the indomitable ferocity that defines his mother. “Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”

That’s all it takes to pull Kylo back to Starkiller. The clang of his helmet hitting the bridge. Holding out his lightsaber, a peace offering that would soon turn to ash. Then the darkness of a dying star, shrinking into oblivion—

“Why?” Kylo asks. “Why would you even want me to live, after—all I’ve done?”

His mother walks over to him, and it’s too much, he can’t let her touch him, let her dirty herself by laying hands on his skin. But then she cups his cheek, same as his father did in his last moments, and says, “Because you’re my son.”

Kylo rips himself away from her, shaking. “Get out.”

He can feel the hope in her crumbling when she says, “Ben—”

“Get out!” he screams. “Just leave!”

She straightens, drawing herself up with all the dignity of the princess she is. “I didn’t raise you to be the sort of man who would give up,” she says. “So make me proud, Ben Solo.”

.

.

It isn’t stubbornness that keeps him quiet. Not hopelessness either, although that feeling has grown intimately familiar over the years. No, the key to his silence is simple exhaustion. He’s been nothing but a tool since he was a child, first to his uncle, then to Snoke, and although he found some peace in submitting to it, now he’s too tired to continue being used. All he wants is to rest.

He spends his days mostly sleeping. No more escape attempts, no more taunting his guards. It’s boring, but he counts down the days. Waiting.

A week before his execution he gets a new visitor: Finn.

Kylo lies facing the wall. He doesn’t turn around. “What are you doing here?”

Finn grabs him by the ankle and manhandles him halfway off the bed, giving Kylo no choice but to sit up.

“Rey told me what happened—all of it—and she’s too scared to see you herself, but she doesn’t want you to die,” Finn says. “So I came for her.”

“And what exactly are you going to say that my mother and Rey haven’t already said?” Kylo asks.

Finn crosses his arms over his chest. “That you’re selfish. Cowardly and selfish.”

Kylo has to smile. “Well, that’s a different strategy. I’ll give you that.”

Finn sits beside him on the bed. He’s still wearing the jacket he’d had on when Kylo sliced up his back, and he wants to shy away in shame. He’d nearly killed this man, and now here he was, arguing to keep him alive.

“You know we were all terrified of you, right? The stormtroopers, I mean. I’d heard of you a long time before I saw you, and when I did, on Jakku… well, the rumors fell a little short, to be honest.”

Kylo can’t figure out what angle Finn is going for here, unless it’s to make him feel like shit. If so, it’s working.

“My point is that you have something most people don’t have, the same thing Rey’s got: the Force. Now, I’ve been told that I don’t know how the Force works,” Finn says, smiling with his voice as much as his mouth, “but I’m guessing that if it picked you then it’s got plans for you. Better plans than being used—which I understand a lot better than any destiny mumbo jumbo.”

Kylo doesn’t want to like Finn, but it’s hard not to. He’s kind for being here, maybe even kinder than Rey, and what he has to say—it’s tempting to believe. That perhaps the Force has put him on a difficult path for a reason, and just because he chose the dark side, it doesn’t mean he’s beyond change.

“What does this have to do with me being a selfish coward?” Kylo asks dryly.

Finn claps him on the shoulder a bit harder than necessary. “Plain and simple: there are a lot of good people who are gonna die if you don’t cooperate. Who are already dying because you won’t open your damn mouth.”

When Kylo doesn’t answer, Finn asks, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

After he leaves, Kylo lies on his back and stares up at the clinically white ceiling, thinking about the Force and Rey, his mother and blood—the blood in his veins and the blood on his hands.

He used to believe that he was meant for something. Now Kylo doesn’t know what that is, but maybe it’s greater than rotting in this cell, waiting on death.

.

.

The Supreme Leader never comes for him; no one comes for him. Because he’s too weak to be worth the effort. Because Snoke must be certain that Kylo will hold his tongue, an obedient dog to the end.

The next time someone brings him a meal, Kylo says, “Go get the general. I’m ready to talk.”

He spends the next three days sitting in an interrogation room—wrists locked behind his back, shackles on his feet—with his mother and other high-ranking officers of the Resistance. Kylo gives up everything he knows. Security codes, the locations of military bases and factories, plans for weapons both massive and small. Every scrap of information he has on his elusive master, on Hux and all other relevant officers.

When it’s done, his mother cups his cheek and says, “Thank you, Ben.”

He leans into it—selfish, like Finn said, because he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and his mom seems so eager to extend it. And still, he’s hungry for more.

Kylo pulls away, looking down at this woman who gave him life and love, neither of which he’s appreciated.

“Can I see Rey?” he asks.

Lieutenant General Tsann gives him a cold look. He was happy enough to take Kylo’s information, but he doesn’t seem as eager to give him any more than his life.

“No,” Tsann says. “You’ll remain in your cell until we decide the terms of your… release.”

His mother shoots Tsann a sharp look, the kind that cowed Kylo when he was still a boy named Ben Solo.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long,” she says. “I made deals across the board to safely secure your freedom. It’s just… the conditions of that freedom need a little negotiation.”

Kylo would laugh if he wasn’t so weary, tired right down to his bones and blood.

“It’s all right, Mom. I haven’t been free in a long time. Anything’s better than nothing.”

It’s true, Kylo realizes. He needs this. He needs to have room to live, to find out who he is without Snoke over his shoulder. Maybe even who he could be for Rey, if she still wants him.

That night, he feels her reach out. The wall she’d learned to build finally coming down, dismantled under the force of her will, letting her emotions flow freely from her heart to his. She’s relieved, so relieved, that he finally gave up his master. That he’s going to live.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says. “For everything. I shouldn’t have—”

_Stop. I know._

“I miss you.”

Kylo closes his eyes, still ashamed to give, to need, but too desperate to hold back. His heart beats a wild rhythm as he waits for her to answer.

Then: _I miss you too, Ben._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last chapter is here! I'm so happy to finally call this fic complete. Just a note on format: unlike the previous chapters, this one is from both Ben's and Rey's POVs, since I wanted to give both of them the proper conclusion that they deserved. Thanks for reading, and if you could take a moment to let me know your thoughts on the story, I would really appreciate it. :)

Kylo sits alone in his cot, waiting for some certainty to hush the noise of his doubts. He wants resolve, for the light to finally settle over the dark. He needs to ease the burden of his grief and regret, to help him forget the sight of his father falling from that bridge.

Kylo waits for peace, for absolution. But most of all, he waits for Rey.

.

.

The base is alive with speculation about Ben’s release. People wondering what information he gave up, how long he’ll be under house arrest, and if General Organa pulled strings to ensure that he wouldn’t be executed anyway. The popular opinion is that he should be.

Rey knows where Ben’s room is thanks to Leia: modest quarters on one of the middling basement levels, far away from the general populace of the Resistance, for his own safety as much as theirs. She wants to go to him, to hold and kiss him again. Maybe even spend the night, if she feels ready. She’s still ashamed of what he saw, the truth of that night on Jakku and how it damaged her, but she can forgive it. She could forgive nearly anything now because he chose to live.

First she goes to Finn’s room and throws her arms around him. “Thank you,” she says. “I don’t know what you said to him, but it worked. It worked, and he’s going to live because of you.”

Rey lets go of him and steps back, her face hot. That was more than she’d meant to say.

“I don’t think it was just me,” Finn says, grinning, “but I’ll take the credit anyway.”

“I know it couldn’t have been easy, after everything he’s done to both of us, and Poe too.”

Finn’s smile disappears, his expression sober now, but he says, “It was the right thing to do, for you and for the Resistance, so I don’t regret it.”

Rey nods, then says, “I should go. I haven’t seen him yet, and I—do you think I should give him space?”

Finn laughs so roughly that it’s almost rude. “Only if you want to torture him. Which I’m not opposed to, but I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Rey shakes her head. “I know you don’t understand. I barely understand myself, but I don’t think the terrible things he’s done are all that should define him. There’s good in Ben. I’ve seen it, and I can feel it.”

“I don’t have to understand,” Finn says. “I’m not the one who’s in love with him.”

“I’m not…”

The denial falls quiet on her tongue. It’s hard to say that she doesn’t love Ben. Too hard to mean nothing.

Finn claps her on the shoulder. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

.

.

She comes to him in the middle of the day, when the sun outside would be at its highest. Not that Kylo can see it in this windowless room, three floors below ground level. He’ll take it, though; he’ll take anything over that colorless cell with its relentless overhead lights.

Rey lingers by the closed door, her presence in the Force a warm glow, somehow delicate and blazing at once. She’s here for him, and he’s more grateful for her forgiveness than he is to have his crimes pardoned.

“Come here,” he says.

Rey climbs into bed with him, settles by his side, and takes his hand in her own. She has such contradictory hands, elegant but strong, and he’ll never tire of touching them.

“Will you kiss me?” Rey asks, her voice small, like she thinks there’s a chance he’ll say no.

Kylo pulls her closer and presses his lips to hers. He keeps things innocent, as patient as he can bear to be, until Rey opens to him. They can stay this way, giving, tasting each other, for as long she needs.

They don’t tire of kissing for a long while, even though Rey’s touch made him hard and aching within minutes. When she finally lays a hand on his thigh, he shudders and gasps her name.

Rey freezes. Only for a moment, but he feels it.

“We don’t have to…” Kylo grabs her wrist, holds her still because he can’t quite take her touch right now. Not if he wants to say what needs to be said. “I can wait.”

Rey buries her face against his chest. “I hate this. I want you so badly, but I’m afraid. Not of you, just of—of having it done to me.”

Kylo thinks of that man he’d seen in her memory, the one who stole so much from her, and wonders if he’s still on Jakku. Finding out would be easy, and if that old scavenger is there, it would only take a moment to kill him. Although Kylo thinks it would be much more satisfying to take his time.

“Stop it.” Rey kisses his throat, rocks against him. “I’m fine, really, just nervous. You don’t have to do anything like that.”

Kylo would know she’s lying even if he couldn’t feel her fear creeping across their connection, sliding from Rey to him like a bead along a thread.

That’s twice that she’s tried to persuade him with sex. First in his cell, when she begged him to live, and now, trying to keep him from falling straight back to the darkness. He can hardly hold it against her, all things considered.

“Let’s just sleep,” Kylo says. “I’m exhausted, and I want to hold you.”

He feels Rey’s relief as if it’s his own, hears it ripe in her voice when she says, “Thank you, Ben.”

Kylo doesn’t feel ready to reclaim his old name, and maybe he never will. But he can only be thankful that Rey believes in his light enough to think of him as Ben Solo. To see a man where once she only feared a monster.

.

.

They take things slow. Days, then weeks, of tender embraces and mostly chaste kissing. She learns Ben’s body in a series of patient lessons. The kinds of touches that relax him, or draw needy noises from his throat, or make him hard.

Rey wants to try again, but every time she thinks she’s ready, the fear takes over. And she doesn’t think she could bear the shame of sharing her body only to have to stop halfway through. Again.

She tells Finn about it, and he gives her the kind of warm hug that never fails to lift her spirits, at least a bit.

Still, Rey pulls away, not quite wanting to be touched anymore. “I just feel so stupid. Like I threw away something that I can’t get back.”

“That’s not true,” Finn says. “You didn’t do anything wrong, all right? None of this is your fault.”

_Then why did I give it up for eight portions?_

She knows better than to say that. Finn will just try to reassure her more, and Rey doesn’t want that. She wants someone to agree with her, justify this fault she feels, so she can shoulder it and carry on.

“I should go. I was supposed to start training with Ben ten minutes ago. Catch you later?”

Finn’s smile is painfully tender. “Yeah, peanut. Later.”

Her spar with Ben helps. Rey pushes herself hard, holding back nothing, as if the man before her is still Kylo Ren, a ruthless creature in a mask.

After she’s burned Ben twice, once on the shoulder and again across his ribs, he holds up his hands, training lightsaber extinguished, and asks, “Did I do something?”

Rey shakes her head. “No. I just need to work out some frustration.”

Ben smirks, that almost-smile she’s come to love, never mind that she first saw it while trapped in an interrogation chair.

“Well try not to kill me while you’re at it. I only just escaped a hangman’s noose a few weeks ago.”

That isn’t remotely funny, but Rey says, “Don’t be ridiculous. It would have been a blaster shot to the head.”

Ben makes a low, rough noise. That’s as close to a laugh as he ever offers.

“So what’s frustrating you?” he asks. Lightly, as if he doesn’t already know the answer to his question.

Rey puts away her own training saber, its weak light snuffed out. “Not being able to—you know.”

Ben’s gaze flickers over her, suddenly warm in a way that it makes her shiver. This would be much easier if she didn’t want him so badly, but her body’s needs are as violently present as the anxiety she can’t seem to shake.

Then he looks away, chewing the inside of his lower lip the way he does when he’s unsure. Or hungry to get between her legs.

“It’s all right. Even if we never…” He swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing. “It wouldn’t make me love you any less. That isn’t what I want you for.”

_Love._ He’s never said that before, not out loud. Rey has felt it from him, a truth that crept up on them both over the last few weeks, but hearing him voice it is different. It shows faith in what he feels, certainty and courage.

Rey rushes to him, grabs the collar of his tunic, and tugs him down for a kiss. There’s nothing chaste about this, nor anything that makes her afraid, and it gives her hope. Maybe things will change. Maybe she isn’t broken beyond fixing.

.

.

Kylo takes missions for the Resistance now. Cutting down soldiers that he once worked alongside, stealing weapons plans and destroying labs, blasting TIE fighters out of the sky. It’s work that tugs at the darkness inside him. Killing is killing, and there’s no light in it, no matter which side he’s on.

He slips back into it more comfortably than he’d like Rey to know.

His master has heard about his betrayal, and now the First Order has put a bounty on his head that would’ve made his father blush. It’s only a matter of time before he has to face Snoke, but that’s a worry for another day.

Right now he’s picnicking with Rey. Norell is a temperate planet, one covered in fields of wildflowers and verdant woods. They’ve found themselves a grove of pom-pear trees to sit beneath, shielding them from most of the bright afternoon sunlight. Some still sneaks through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across them.

Rey eats her fruit with great thoroughness and licks the juice from her fingers afterward. They share a bottle of goldenberry wine, and although Kylo doesn’t have enough to get remotely drunk, the world softens around him. Rey smiles more, even giggles at one of his dark jokes, and stretches out across the blanket that his mother gave them. It’s going to be horribly grass-stained after this, but Kylo doesn’t particularly care. Not when Rey is so beautiful, eyes closed and lithe little body resting peacefully.

Then she sits up and slowly pulls off her shirt. She holds it in front of her breasts, but she’s bare beneath it, offering herself with a smile on her lips. She seems sure, ready in a way that he’s never seen before.

“We don’t have to—”

“If you say that one more time I’m going to hit you with my quarterstaff,” she declares. “I know we don’t have to, but I want to try.”

They strip out of the rest of their clothes, fully naked together for the first time. Kylo pulls her on top of him, so that she’s freer to move away if she needs to, and sits up to kiss her. She tastes like white melon and wine, and her body responds to every touch. He can feel her growing wet, and when he bows to take a nipple into his mouth, it peaks against his tongue. Rey sighs prettily, a quiet, girlish sound that reminds him how new she is to this. Apart from their quickly abandoned sex in his cell, she’s only ever known violence, and he wants to change that, to give her pleasure that she can cherish.

Kylo gets Rey onto her back, then kisses her collarbone, her breast, the sharp crest of her rib cage.

“Can I go down on you?” he asks.

He saw enough of what happened to her on Jakku to know that she hasn’t done that before, and he hopes that trying something new will keep her present, grounded and focused on what feels good.

Rey tilts her head back, but she says, “Please.”

Kylo licks her hip bone and spreads her legs. “Been thinking about it?”

She shifts under his hands, opening wider for him. “Only half the time you kiss me.”

He smiles when he nips the inside of her thigh, pleased to know how he’s been winding her up. But once Kylo puts his mouth on her, he can’t think of anything besides Rey’s taste, her scent, and the lovely mewling noises she’s making.

.

.

This is different, worlds away from what she’s known before. Ben’s mouth is soft on her, eager and so very gentle. He licks her slowly at first, then faster, attending to the place where she most needs his touch. Her body feels liquid, tightening between her legs but loosening everywhere else. It feels almost too good to be real, like the dreams she sometimes has of Ben taking her, but immeasurably better and far more vivid.

Rey grips the blanket beneath her, panting with every stroke of his tongue, until she’s close, so close. She’s rarely worked herself to this point, too afraid of what intimate touches could make her think of, but in this moment she’s only here, tied to Ben and the bliss he’s giving her.

It’s not quite enough, though. Too tender, and almost too sweet.

“More,” she whimpers. “I need more if I’m going to…”

She can’t say it. Just thinking it makes her hot all over.

Ben pulls away and wipes his mouth, so wet from her that it strikes something sharp and selfish low in her belly. Rey knows that whenever she ever tells this strong man to get on his knees for her, he’ll do it without hesitation. That’s how badly Ben wants her, wants to please her.

It makes her feel powerful when he gets on top of her, his cock between her legs, nearly where she needs him.

“Is this all right?” he asks. “We can do it differently if this is—”

“Please, like this.” Rey grasps his shoulders. “When I get on my back from now on, I only want to think of you.”

Something dark crosses his face, and she feels a spark of possessiveness pass between them.

She sucks at his throat, tasting the salty sweat on his skin, and asks, “You like hearing that?”

He nods as he pushes inside her, and her whole body goes rigid. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but that familiar stretch makes her feel torn all over again. _No_. That’s all she can think is, _no, no_. She doesn’t want her pleasure to fade, doesn’t want to have to stop, like last time—

Ben kisses her forehead, holding himself still inside her.

“It’s me,” he says. “You’re with me, sweetheart.”

That tension remains, but Rey knows where she is. She can see that it’s Ben on top of her, inside her, and it feels like starting over. He might as well be her first, because he’s the only one she’s ever chosen, the only one to make her feel this safe.

It’s as much for herself as it is for him when she says, “I’m yours. Just yours.”

They make love hesitantly, but when she feels her pleasure building again, Rey begs him to take her harder. Ben thrusts into her so roughly that she knows he’s been holding back, gentling his needs until she was ready for more, and that only makes it better.

“Feel good?” he asks.

Rey can’t find her words, so she only says, “Uh huh,” and rocks up to meet him.

She reaches between them to touch herself, and then she’s there, toppling over the edge and bringing Ben along with her.

It takes a moment for her to drift back to her body, to feel Ben on top of her again, his weight heavy but perfect.

“Thank you,” she says. “That was…”

She’s still too undone to voice the way she feels, but Ben will know anyway.

.

.

When he and Rey return that night, they hurry to her room. They’d made love twice more, and he knows that they must look like the new lovers they are, flushed and love bitten with rumpled hair. Rey’s wobbly steps don’t help, and the sooner they’re alone the better. Rumors fly like X-wings across this damn base, as bad as a secondary school.

Once they’re alone again, he picks her up and carries her to bed.

“Surely you can’t go again,” she says, laughing. “I think you’ve had me every way there is.”

Kylo settles under the covers beside her, bites her shoulder, and says, “Not even close, sweetheart, but there’s time for that later.”

They sleep, a dreamless darkness for Kylo that’s somehow as warm as the light, and in the morning he feels new. Like loving Rey could wipe the red out of his past. He knows it can’t, but now he belongs to her, and in this moment nothing else matters.

.

.

Rey has the dream again, but tonight it’s different. The ground beneath her is still hard and unforgiving, the night air cold, stars prying on this intimate moment. But the man on top of her is loving, his body moving over her, inside her, gently. She clings to Ben, looking up at his beautiful face, softened with pleasure. His eyes are warm as he says her name, again and again, keeping her tethered to the moment.

She’s bound to Ben, but when she wakes in the dawn light, she’s never felt freer.

.

.

_fin_


End file.
